


Throw Roses In The Rain

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bletchley Circle
Genre: F/F, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-series one, Lucy and Millie find their way to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throw Roses In The Rain

In the months after Crowley's death, life returned to its old quiet paths. Millie expected to feel different, to find her life upside-down; she had, after all, killed a man.

But she felt quite cold about it all. In honesty, shooting Crowley troubled her sleep less than getting used to Lucy's breathing on the other side of the room.

"Of course you don't feel bad about it," Lucy said one three o'clock night, when they both sat up with tea and cigarettes and Millie felt worn and otherworldly enough to mention her strange lack of grief. "He would have killed Susan. He would have killed _us_ , if he could. He was evil, Millie. Don't waste another moment's thought on him."

"I can hardly forget him." Millie winced and brought her cigarette to her mouth. "Sorry, dear."

Lucy smiled faintly, that little twist of her lips with faraway eyes that Millie had found so unnerving during the war but that was something of a comfort now. It was an assurance, at least, that some people still carried those dark days in their hearts. Life hadn't suddenly become sunlight and daisies for everyone.

That was unfair. She knew it was unfair. Still, she returned Lucy's smile and crushed out her cigarette. "We should try to sleep."

"Why? You've not got work tomorrow, and I've no job at all. We might as well stay up all night if we want to."

"It becomes a bad habit."

That was Lucy's other smile, small and shy, true amusement and rarely seen. "Don't think I've ever had a bad habit before."

"You never bit your nails? Never stole sips of your dad's coffee on the sly when you were a girl?"

Lucy laughed. "I would've had the belt for that!"

They fell silent, Lucy looking toward the window and the city beyond, Millie looking at Lucy. She still had a child's face, just as she had at Bletchley. If not for her eyes, she might not have aged a day.

Millie knew better.

"If we're going to stay up," Millie said at last, "we might as well give you two habits at once. I'll get the cards. Let's see how long it takes you to pick up gin rummy."

**

A woman who knew the ropes of waitressing and who was properly resigned to being pawed a bit every day would never be out of work for long. Millie found a job at a pub a few blocks from the flat for equal wages to what she'd made before, and better tips, sometimes, if she undid a button on her blouse and smiled.

She didn't feel much like smiling, often, but an extra pound or two in a week helped pay the difference of two people in the flat needing to be fed instead of one.

Lucy was taking in washing and mending, but so were half the other women in London, and Millie could see it was wearing on her, darkening her lovely edges even more than the grim memories she could never banish from her mind. Worry was as much a burden as horror. Millie wouldn't have believed that, once, but the world taught everyone in good time.

The pub could use another waitress, could _always_ stand to take on another, but Millie didn't mention it any evening at home. They sat up til dawn playing rummy for matchsticks and hairpins, they awoke blurry-eyed and Lucy fumbled with her needle until she left blood all over the mending she did manage to find, they drank hot water when they ran out of tea--but Millie didn't say anything.

She remembered the marks Harry had left on Lucy. She couldn't bear to put her in a place where she might feel them under her skin again.

**

One night Millie came home from her shift and found Lucy all aglow and a whole roast chicken on the table, something they certainly could not afford.

"You'll never guess!" Lucy cried, before Millie could even begin to guess, or say anything at all. "You'll never guess! I got a job."

"Darling!" Millie hung up her coat on its hook and dropped into her chair, staring at the still-unexplained chicken. "What sort of job? Where?"

"In a shop! Not too far away. They sell fabric and notions and I'm terribly ignorant about all of it, but they said they'll train me and I showed them how I could memorize all the prices right off and they hired me for four days a week."

"And you ran out and got a chicken for dinner."

"What?" Lucy blinked, then laughed, clapping her hands like a child. "Oh, no. Susan bought that for us. As a celebration."

"Susan?" Millie asked faintly. She felt as though she'd missed something, something terribly important, that would make all the rest fall properly into place.

"Oh!" Lucy laughed again, shaking her head, and sat down across from Millie. "I've told it all out of order. Susan's the one who saw the sign at the shop that they were looking for help. She came round and got me while you were at work, and took me to apply for it. And she was so glad when I got it, she smiled so much-- you know how Susan doesn't smile much, Millie. And then she took me to buy the chicken, and said to tell you she wished she could stay, but the children would be home and she couldn't."

"Of course." Millie pushed old bitterness down in her heart and rose to her feet, giving Lucy the best smile she could. It was real; it only hurt at the edges. "Of course, we'll celebrate! This smells wonderful, and we must have a little nip with it-- let me see, I think I at least have some wine put away."

She did; terribly cheap stuff a step up from vinegar, but they got tipsy on it anyway, giggling over their glasses while Lucy recited the prices of pins and buttons and calico.

Lucy's face was flushed, her cheeks stained like roses, and Millie could feel the bitterness trying to twist itself around in her heart, take root and bloom again. _This won't go any better this time than it did the last_ , she thought, hiding the trembling of her lips behind her wineglass. _You don't even have a trip around the world to offer Lucy, you've nothing at all. Leave the poor girl alone and let her be happy._

**

Lucy working four days a week meant better meals and less worrying over the rent, but it also meant the end of their late nights. If Millie worked to closing at the pub, she came home to a dark flat and Lucy long asleep, her soft and even breathing from the corner a lighthouse for Millie to steer herself to bed.

Even if she left work earlier, the idea of going home for only an hour or two of idle chat of the day before Lucy yawned and apologized and fell asleep was sometimes more than Millie could bear. Not always, not even often, but _sometimes_ , God, she felt like she could choke on it, on the routine and mundanity of it all. She'd never wanted a conventional life. She'd had adventure once, and wildness, and sometimes the idea of all that being gone closed up her throat and left her desperate and afraid.

Susan had understood that, at Bletchley. Not the wildness, perhaps; Susan had never been wild. But the desperate need to run from the conventional, the prescribed, the dull routine. Millie had thought she'd understood that. But now...

Well, at least now Millie didn't have two children and a husband who worked at Transport and a prim little house. At least she'd dodged _that_ trap. She had the freedom of late nights and pubs and cigarettes and black-market lipstick.

She had them, and on the aching nights, why shouldn't she take them and run?

**

One of those nights she crept home in the stillest, bleakest hour of the night, somewhere between three AM and half-past. She could hardly keep herself on her feet, she was so tired, but at least the desperate, panicked ache was gone. She'd pressed it right flat and out of herself with drinks and flirting and dancing. Her ankles and her calves and the balls of her feet hurt terribly, and she wobbled her way to the table to balance herself while she stepped out of her shoes.

"Tell me where you go when you go out at night."

Millie nearly lost her footing, gasping aloud and grabbing the edge of the table. "Lucy! My God!"

"Tell me."

"What on earth are you still doing up? You're working tomorrow, aren't you? It's three o'clock in the bloody morning."

"You're still up, aren't you?"

Millie looked at her, the way her hair fell across her forehead, the stubborn jut of her jaw and hot determination in her eyes. Lucy typically was easy to cow, or at least to nudge; she defaulted to backing down. None of that tonight, though.

"Tell me," Lucy said again, her voice low and sharp. "Tell me where you go."

"Out," Millie said softly. "I just go out. I walk."

"Do you kiss people?"

Millie folded her arms across her chest, carefully, to hide the shaking. "Lucy. That's not--"

"Do you kiss girls?" Lucy's voice softened, dipped. "Like at Bletchley. You would go off in the dark and kiss other girls, there."

"Lucy!"

"I saw you. I don't forget."

"We're not discussing this." Millie turned away, moving toward her side of the flat, her bed and little chest of drawers, such little space she could hardly pretend it was a sanctuary.

"Just tell me." Lucy's voice caught and nearly broke, the sound cutting Millie sharply enough that she stopped in her tracks. "Just tell me the truth!"

"For God's sake, Lucy. Why does it _matter_?"

"Because I'm jealous of them!" Lucy's voice did break, then, a sob wrenching from her chest and leaving Millie to flinch. "I'm so jealous I might die, thinking of them kissing you!"

Millie stood for a long moment, forcing herself to breathe, unable to force herself to turn and look at Lucy.

"You mustn't say such things," she whispered finally. "You can't."

There was silence, for such a long time it ached, until she heard the springs of Lucy's bed creaking. That was enough to allow her to move forward and climb into her own bed, still fully-dressed and made-up, without a chance of sleeping.

**

The next day, they said nothing of it. And again and again, until two weeks had passed, and Millie found herself breathing almost easily again. Perhaps Lucy had been feeling unwell. Perhaps in the light of day she'd realized that she wanted nothing to do with the complications she had implied. She wanted to remain neat and simple and virtuous. Of course she did.

After the dinner shift on Friday night, a man asked Millie to step down to another pub with him for a drink, and even with a week's pay in her pocket she was just short enough to say yes. A drink would do her nicely, and then she would go home and fall into bed and hide away from the world for a while.

One drink became three, all on an empty stomach and paid for by the terribly kind generosity of her new friend, and she walked home not quite stumbling and laughing at herself behind her hand. Oh, she would be sorry in the morning. Sorry sorry.

She opened the door and closed it behind her with care, trying to enter the flat as quiet as a ghost, lifting a foot to slip off her shoe, when suddenly she was hit by the heavy warmth of a body and borne back against the wall.

"What!" she gasped, and then she realized it was Lucy, Lucy gripping her arms and holding her to the cheap plasterboard, Lucy claiming her mouth in a rough, clumsy kiss and stealing her breath. _Lucy_.

"Where were you?" Lucy gasped, kissing her again before she could answer. "Millie, where did you go?"

"Stop this, Lucy. Stop this at once."

Lucy pulled away, trembling and wild-eyed. "I can't stop. I can't stop feeling like this."

"Like what?" Millie dropped her purse to the floor and took off her jacket, letting it fall as well. "How do you feel? Have you gone mad?"

"I think I have." Lucy touched her own face, pressing her palms to her cheeks like she was checking for a fever. "I want to kiss you. To touch you. I think about you kissing those other women and I--"

"I was with a man tonight." Millie threw the words at her, shocked herself at the vicious edge to them. "What does that do to your feelings?"

Lucy stared at her, hands still pressed to her face. "Nothing," she whispered. "Nothing at all. I still want you so... so terribly much, Millie."

"When did this happen?" Millie asked. She had to fight to make the words heard; it suddenly seemed as if there was no air at all in her lungs, nothing in her body but a wild desperation she couldn't name or control.

"Always. Since Bletchley." Lucy looked away, her eyes bright with frustrated tears. "Since I _saw_ you, the first time. All I've ever wanted is to kiss you, for you to touch me."

Millie stared at her, too stunned to speak. 

"Always," Lucy said again. "Please, Millie." She took a step toward her, and Millie still couldn't find her voice. "Please?"

When Millie reached for her, Lucy came along easily, tilting her head back to meet Millie's mouth. Her eyes were still wild and bright, but there was joy there that Millie had never seen before. Joy and rightness, like Lucy had found something she'd been looking for for a terribly long time.

Millie had never been what someone had been searching for before. It felt strange. Kissing Lucy, though, and guiding Lucy back across the room to the bed; that didn't feel strange at all. That felt right.

**

Now some things changed. Lucy's cot in the corner held their jackets and the paper wrappers from shopping, or dresses and stockings in need of mending, more often than Lucy slept there. Millie's bed gained another layer of blankets, because Lucy was always cold. There were two pairs of shoes lying on the rug by the bed, guaranteeing that Millie would stumble over them in the morning, her years of practice at dodging one pair now entirely useless.

It was more than worth it for the other things that changed. Tracing Lucy's smile with her fingertips. Making Lucy gasp and squeak, and utter low, shuddering moans that didn't seem as if they could come from Lucy's body. Watching her slip out of bed and stand in front of the mirror in the glow thrown through the windows by the streetlights, studying every lipstick print Millie had left on her pale, pale skin.

Lucy lying with her hands warm on Millie's thighs, her head lowered between them, lapping at Millie with a kittenish tongue, warm and eager. Her fingers tangling in Millie's hair while they kissed, pulling against the curls with the perfect sharp sting. The impossibly soft skin of her breasts under Millie's hands and mouth, the slide of her thigh against Millie's, the way they breathed against each other in hungry, yearning rhythm.

Everything changed. The entire world might have flown away and been replaced for all that Millie knew or cared. There was this: the two of them tucked away in their flat. And there was everything else: work and friends and shopping and visiting their mothers every two weeks on Sundays. Susan and Jean's odd calls, here and there. The whisper of the newspapers and radio shows, suggesting that the rest of the world was out there, beyond any attention Millie could spare to give it.

She knew that eventually she would give all of those things their proper time again, without the burning resentment she felt right now. But for the moment there was Lucy, and nothing else. 

**

"Would you like to go out sometime?" Millie asked, twisting her fingers gently in the ends of Lucy's hair.

Lucy's brow furrowed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Go out where?"

"Out, darling. A nightclub. Drinking, dancing. Have a bit of fun."

Lucy smiled. "I have fun here at home."

"Naughty." Millie tugged at her hair and let go. "Just something a bit different."

"Can we do that? Go out? I mean... together."

"There are places for everyone in London. Nightclubs for everyone. I know of a few specifically for people like us."

"Lesbians."

Millie laughed softly and kissed Lucy's wrist. "Yes, darling thing."

"When can we go?"

"Friday night? We'll do ourselves up all lovely and have a nice time."

Lucy caught Millie's hand and threaded their fingers together. "I haven't properly gone out since... well, before Harry and I were married, but even then we didn't go anywhere but the pub. I haven't gone to a nightclub since Bletchley."

"And that wasn't even proper, dear. There was a war on."

Lucy rolled her eyes and squeezed Millie's hand. "I know that."

"Friday night." Millie kissed her hand, then her mouth. "We'll have a lovely time."

"I don't have anything nice to wear."

"Of course you do. Any of your work frocks are nice enough, once we put you in dressy shoes and do your hair up and put some lipstick on you."

Lucy pulled away, sitting up and pushing her hair back over her shoulders. "Oh. I didn't-- I don't. I don't think I--"

"Lucy." Millie reached for her, frowning as Lucy twisted farther away. "Darling, what is it?"

"You want to do me up the same as when I was bait for that man on the train."

Millie let her hand drop to the mattress, stunned by her own stupidity. "Oh, god. I didn't think of that at all, Lucy. I'm so sorry."

"It's not the whole idea that bothers me." Lucy stared off across the flat, face pale and eyes unfocused in the dim light. "It's the lipstick. The way it felt on my mouth, all... sticky, smothering me, while he--"

"Of course, darling, of course we won't--"

"But it's not even the whole idea of _that_." Lucy frowned, her fingers worrying the edge of the blanket as she looked for the words. "I don't mind when you wear it. I don't mind when you leave it all over me with kissing and-- and all. It's just the idea of getting all done up like that again, the same way, like I'm bait again, or--"

"Lucy." Millie made her voice loud and sharp enough to snap Lucy from her state. "I will never let you be bait again."

Lucy smiled weakly. "All right."

"And don't worry about what to wear. I have an idea."

"What?"

"It's a surprise." Millie held her arms out. "Now come lie down again. It's late and you have to work in the morning."

**

Millie didn't have to be at the pub until dinner, which gave her the day to search charity shops and a pawnbroker or two for what she wanted. She found it all and hid it under the bed, bundled up in brown paper, until Friday morning.

They were sitting at the table with tea and toast, contemplating the mad luxury of two entire days off, together. "And of course we're going out tonight," Millie said as casually as she could. "To the Gateways."

Lucy looked up from her tea. "What's that?"

"The nightclub I told you about. We're going, tonight."

Lucy pushed her cup back. "You got the surprise, then?"

"I did. Do you want to see it?"

Lucy rolled her eyes. "I'd hardly ask if I didn't, would I? Millie! Don't be mean."

Millie laughed and went to the bed, reaching underneath for her parcels. "Now, what you have to know about the Gateways is that they've got a bit of a dress code."

"Oh?" Lucy drew her feet up onto her chair, hugging her knees to her chest. "But they'll let us in?"

"Oh yes. It's not a code based on expense, you see. Just... well." She unwrapped the first bundle and held up the contents. 

Lucy stared at the length of light brown fabric in Millie's hands with puzzlement. "It's a man's suit."

"A boy's, technically. You're not broad enough in the shoulders for a grown man's clothes."

"I don't understand."

Millie placed the suit on the bed and opened the other parcels-- a white shirt, still smart-looking if not crisp or new; a neatly striped tie; a homburg. "The girls who go to the Gateways expect couples to show up with one done up in men's clothes and the other in women's."

"Why?"

"Custom, I suppose."

"But I'm not a man, Millie. That's the whole point, isn't it?"

Millie held the hat in her hands. "Of course, dear. This is just-- it's a game. Costumes. If you don't want to, we won't, of course, but I thought this way might feel better for you instead of a dress and lipstick."

Lucy looked at the clothes spread out across the bed. "It's a lovely brown, isn't it? I look quite nice in that shade."

"You'll be stunning. We can take the afternoon to hem the trousers and take the jacket in."

"What will you wear?" Lucy glanced at her, smiling shyly. "Normally you wear trousers, too."

"I have some nice frocks stowed away, never fear." Millie set the hat on Lucy's head, cocking it raffishly to the side. "So we'll go, then? We'll do this?"

"Yes," Lucy said softly, catching Millie's hand and kissing her palm. "Yes, absolutely."

**

Lucy looked marvelous in the brown suit. The waistcoat fit well with just a tuck in the back, and the jacket fell across her shoulders just right. Millie put her hair up at the crown of her head and pinned the homburg over it, and where Lucy had stood was a dashing young androgyne, Lucy's eyes and lovely strong jaw on the body of a young man in dancing shoes.

"You're gorgeous," Lucy breathed, and Millie cast a critical glance at herself in the mirror-- the dress was a bit out of fashion, but it wore well, and the shade of blue still suited her perfectly. She'd gone for bold and vivid in her makeup, giving in to that treacherous longing for wildness, and her hair was a riot of curls controlled by a few deft pins.

"It will do," she said finally. "Come on, darling. We have quite a ways to go."

The Gateways was located in Chelsea, on an otherwise quiet street. From the outside it didn't look terribly exciting at all. But inside--!

Millie heard Lucy's gasp when they stepped through the entryway. She remembered her own first glimpse of the place, and how impossibly decadent it seemed. A room full nearly entirely of women, drinking, dancing, laughing and flirting, holding hands and kissing, here and there. In one corner two women were shouting at each other, red-faced and blurry even this early in the evening. At the bar, a girl settled herself in her partner's lap with a cheerful squeal that broke louder when the other woman slipped her hand up her skirt. It was marvelous. Millie had nearly forgotten how marvelous.

"This is real," Lucy said, her fingers tightening in Millie's. "All of it."

"Yes."

"And every night?"

"Nearly so, I think."

Lucy stared at the dance floor. "I need a drink."

"So do I." Millie squeezed her hand and laughed. "The first look is a bit overwhelming."

Lucy led the way to the bar, her eyes darting about the room, lingering on a couple here and there, and on a few single girls holding half-empty glasses. Millie's eyebrows arched a bit when she noticed that-- perhaps she would need to keep an eye on her girl tonight.

Her girl. The thought felt more than a bit nice. Like heat and good whiskey in her throat, instead of the clutching fear.

**

Lucy got terribly tipsy, trading rounds of drinks back and forth with a pair of young nurses, but Millie had no complaints, either on the dance floor or on their walk home. They left early for a night on the town, but just right for the two of them, respectable working women and veterans of the wartime clerical service, after all.

"Was lovely," Lucy mumbled, leaning her head on Millie's shoulder while Millie unlocked the flat. "So lovely. Magic."

"It was, wasn't it?"

"So lovely." Lucy sighed, her breath warm against Millie's neck. "We'll go again?"

"Of course."

"Or maybe one of the others the girls talked about." Lucy made a face. "One where people don't act quite so much like they've got something up their noses."

Millie laughed and helped her inside. "I think that can be arranged."

"One of the girls in the loo mentioned the Robin Hood Club. Is that lovely?"

"Very lovely. We'll go there next time."

"Good." Lucy twisted away from her arm, picking her way across the floor with exaggerated care. "Get on the bed."

Milie laughed. "May I undress first?"

"Yes, but hurry quick about it." Lucy shrugged out of her jacket and dropped it to the floor.

Millie could hear Lucy moving around the room while she stripped to her knickers and climbed into bed. When she looked up again, Lucy was standing in front of the mirror, carefully painting Millie's deep red lipstick onto her mouth.

"Darling! What are you doing?"

Lucy looked back at her in the mirror, her smile crooked and wide and red with lipstick on her teeth. "I feel all right about it like this. Here with you." She put the tube down and walked over to the bed. "I want to leave kisses all over your skin, too, Millie."

She braced herself over Millie on the bed, hair still pinned tightly back, body held in lines and angles by the waistcoat, tie still flush to her throat. In the dim light, her bright mouth seemed to glow, and Millie's breath caught in her chest.

"I love you," Lucy said, ducking her head to kiss along Millie's shoulder to her neck, pausing to dip into the hollow of her collarbone. "I love you more than I can ever say."

"I love you, too." Millie caught Lucy's chin in her hand and looked into her eyes. "I love you more than anything in my life."

Lucy's smile was dazzling, like a star being born in heaven. Millie closed her eyes as Lucy met her in a kiss, a slow shiver running through her.

All the freedom in the world, here in her hands, in her bed. Everything she could ever have wanted. She didn't have to go out and search at all-- she'd opened the door and let Lucy in, and then built her home around it.

**Author's Note:**

> Research for this came from _Tomboys and Bachelor Girls: A Lesbian History of Post-War Britain 1945-71_ , by Rebecca Jennings.


End file.
